The Valentine's Day
by LittleMaggie
Summary: An H/Hr fic, totally sappy and fluffy but nice. Read and Review, and be gentle, I'm only 14! Chapter 2 is UP!!!! Harry's POV. Draco's POV in ch.3 if there is more interest!
1. Hermione's Day

A/N: I don't own these characters. A bloody brilliant lady that's not me does, though. now to interrupt this story with a commercial Oh please read my other works, too, if you like things like this. Most of my stuff is H/Hr except for 2 poems on HP that are supposed to be humorous but aren't getting reviewed too much. We now return to the original story. . . this is another viewpoint on how Harry and Hermione might confess their love to each other (this is their seventh year).  
  
1.1 The Valentine's Day  
  
  
  
Hermione opened her eyes as the blinding white sunlight filled the room. She sat up in her bed, stretched, and then looked around at the empty beds. All the girls had run downstairs at the crack of dawn, squealing about how it was finally Valentine's day, laughing and giggling about their boyfriends.  
  
Hermione didn't have much to look forwards to. Last year, she had gotten a prank Valentine from Draco, which looked sweet enough (a red heart covered with lace all over), but when she had opened it, it had read:  
  
~Roses are red, others are pink,~  
  
~You should check out your head,~  
  
~And man, do you stink!~  
  
She had hated the card and she remembered watching it burn away into crumbs inside the fireplace, but now she wondered if it were better to get a card of that sort then nothing at all.  
  
Harry had given her flowers before, of course. Yet, he was stuttering so hard and looked so embarrassed that she didn't know if he did it only to make her feel better, (and that he was embarrassed of even being seen with her), or if he meant anything at all by it.  
  
Hermione stopped at her mirror and then pulled her hair back into a pony- tail for the day, then hesitated before putting in a pretty red ribbon to tie it. Then, she dressed in her average, every-day outfit and walked down the stairs and into the dining hall.  
  
Breakfast was served already but nobody was eating. Students everywhere were embracing, hugging, or kissing. Hermione pushed by Lavender, over which two boys were bickering. Hermione heard only a few words:  
  
" I should get to take her to the dance!"  
  
" No, I should take her!"  
  
" No, me!"  
  
Lavender was giggling foolishly, batting her long painted eyelashes, like a wind up doll on which you pull a string and it says a sexist remark like: " Hee hee! I'm a girl!" or "I'm Dolly, but you can call me babe!"  
  
Hermione sat down at the table and began to eat breakfast quietly, trying not to make too much of what was going on. She looked up only when Ron walked by her, a Valentine in his hand. Her eyes met with his, and for a minute she thought the Valentine was for her, but then Ron asked her:  
  
" Hey, Herm! Did you see Parvati?"  
  
Hermione motioned feebly at the doorway of the room, where Parvati stood, and then returned to her meal.  
  
After silently finishing her breakfast, she wiped her hands into the white handkerchief and then stumbled out of the room, making her way through people, all twined together in bonds of love. She worked her way down the hallway, saying hi or smiling at people she knew. Her eyes stopped on Harry. He was holding flowers and what looked like a card and standing all alone in the corner of the room, waiting for someone.  
  
Hermione's stomach wrung with humility, now upset even more that Harry was also out 'courting', or however you might call it. She burst into the nearest classroom, which was empty, and then sat down at a chair and hugged her knees up to herself.  
  
In this position, feeling a wave of emotions wash over her, Hermione wept. Her forehead was pressed down onto the silky material of her dress (it was a simple dress, rather flimsy, barely covering her knees). Her eyelashes were dotted with tears.  
  
She couldn't explain it to herself. She'd never been so upset by something like this before! In fact, she never even let herself grow this emotional about something as simple and small like this. It was only a few more months and she was gone from Hogwarts, after all, and would probably not see these people ever again.  
  
Her fingers pushed into her dress pocket and she pulled out a tissue. She looked at it, ready to wipe the tears from her eyes, when she saw the door of the classroom open.  
  
Hermione didn't want to be seen like this. She was a perfect, expected to be at top awareness and always on-guard. Her fingers flicked the tissue from them and it fell to the ground, looking like a white patch of snow on the earthy brown tiles.  
  
She pressed her forehead down onto her brought-up knees and pretended to be asleep. Whomever it was should get a hint.  
  
" Hermione?" It was Harry's voice.  
  
Hermione didn't reply. She didn't want him to sense the dry crackle of tears that laced her voice. Her lips pressed tightly together, until she knew they appeared to be white, to keep her breath from coming out too loudly.  
  
She heard his footsteps approaching, his pants rustling, until he was standing right by her. Her chin quivered, a steady stream of tears flowing from her eyes. She tried to squeeze them shut tighter, but they wouldn't cut off the flow of tears.  
  
" Are you alright?" He asked, his warm hand now on her shoulder.  
  
His fingers slowly ran through her hair, gently. He probably now realized she was asleep, which was what Hermione wanted him to think. Harry's fingers kept gently brushing through her hair, tucking the strands that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears.  
  
Then, she felt a new-found weight at her feet and his footsteps retreated from the room. He hadn't left yet, he was halfway to the door. She slowly moved her head up, so carefully that it surprised even her, just so that she wouldn't make too much noise.  
  
At her feet, right over her shoes, she saw the bouquet of flowers and a card. Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she caught her lower lip with her front teeth before she could cry out in surprise.  
  
Harry's hand rested on the doorknob, and he pulled the door open, ready to leave. Hermione knew it was now or never.  
  
" Wait."  
  
Harry turned, his cheeks turning red. He realized Hermione hadn't been asleep after all, and was now puzzled.  
  
" Herm!" He approached her, carefully. He saw her tear-streaked cheeks and he asked: "What happened? Why didn't you say anything when I tried to talk to you?" He picked up the flowers from her feet, and the card with his other hands, then offered them to her, in silence.  
  
" Oh, Harry!" She exclaimed, and took the flowers (roses, and beautiful ones at that), and her fingers traced the soft, smooth petals. She took the card, and then looked up at him: " I. . . was just so tired. I thought I'd take a nap." The excuse sounded even more pathetic now that it left her mouth then when she made it up inside her head.  
  
" You were crying." His hands wiped a new tear from her left cheek. His fingers were soft and warm, whilst her cheek was freezing cold.  
  
Suddenly, she found herself hanging from his neck, her hands wrapped around his shoulders, and he hugged her back. Hermione put her head down on his shoulder. She cried and cried.  
  
She felt Harry's hands gently rub her back, then go up to her ponytail, slowly moving his hands towards her cheeks, and he rubbed the tears from them again. " Herm, I have to tell you something."  
  
Her cheek moved against his as they faced each other.  
  
Her fingers tightened on the stems of the roses, her eyes searching his for something she couldn't explain. He grinned and then said: " It's hard to say these kinds of things. . ."  
  
His hand took hers.  
  
" I know I'm not the smartest guy in Hogwarts, and I'm definitely no match to you - no one is - and I'm not the best-looking. . ." He brought her close again. ". . . But I love you."  
  
Hermione felt her heart stop for a moment. It was impossible! Harry, the boy who lived, the boy that Cho had gone out with in sixth year, the boy whom Lavender and Parvati dated with on and off for years, loved her! Her, out of all the girls in Hogwarts!  
  
She hugged him tighter, her lips skimming his cheek.  
  
Her whisper sent another flush across Harry's face: " I love you too." Then, he took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and she cradled the flowers in her hands while he opened the card for her. They read it together, laughing, crying.  
  
They emerged a while later from the classroom, holding hands, and out of all the hugging and kissing people out there, Harry and Hermione seemed to be in love the most. An aura was beaming from them, fresher then fallen snow and more beautiful then Hermione had ever imagined.  
  
Eyes turned to them in surprise (jealous ones, too, from Lavender and Parvati), some knowing ones (Ron and Neville), and a few agreeing and happy ones (Dumbledore).  
  
And there in the Hallway they had their first kiss, and nearly everyone that saw gave them a round of applause: for the happiest couple in Hogwarts.  
  
A/N: eek. . . My goodness was this sappy and fluffy. I got the idea from a movie I saw yesterday, one of those old flicks from the 1940's. H/Hr forever! I might write a new thing from Harry's Point of View but I'm banned from the internet for at least 2 days now (too much online, according to my parents).  
  
P.S. if you got this far into this story then please go a step further (if you are a flamer, stop right now). . . and review. . .  
  
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	2. Harry's Day

Author's Note: I still don't own these characters. Sadly.  
  
Harry felt a rush of blood coming up to his cheeks. Perhaps it was the idea that in his hands he held a beautiful bouquet of roses and a mushy card for Hermione, or maybe it was because a lot of the Gryffindor boys were giving him the curious eye about the fact he was holding these items in the first place. He looked back at them, his eyes giving a defiant 'What?' sort of glance that could make a charging rhino back off.  
  
He knew Hermione might reject his gifts, but he didn't care at this point in the seventh year. He had little to nothing to lose – he had only a few months left anyhow! So, without worrying himself much, he slowly rose from his bed on which he was sitting and contemplating for a good portion of the early morning, and then headed for the dining hall.  
  
The common room fire crackled merrily as he passed by it, his body stirring the air, sending small flames upwards to lick the metal teeth of the fireplace barrier. He turned to double-check that he had everything with him, then nervously readjusted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose (slick with sweat of worry).  
  
Harry remembered how he had given flowers to Hermione previously. He had been so stupid, though! He held them a good arms-length away from his body as he handed them to her, then squirmed from her tearful embrace. Now he wished to go back into that embrace and give it right back to her whole- heartedly. How foolish it felt now, to remember this!  
  
He was stuttering so hard, too. His mouth barely parted as he had told her: " He – Herm?" She had turned, eyes wide and shimmering with anticipation. From that moment on, Harry could barely speak anything else except senseless gibberish, which she probably interpreted all wrong.  
  
Hermione had taken the roses from him without questioning, blinking in surprise, at loss of words.  
  
The moment stood like an awkward blemish on Harry's memory. This year, he had gone all out to eliminate any stuttering, any shaking hands, any stupid gibberish that might escape from his lips. He had spoken with Ron about how to keep himself from saying something stupid and he told him to staple his lips shut. Since that moment, Harry made the decision not to ask Ron for any advice dealing with Hermione – ever again.  
  
Harry was now walking casually down the hallway, trying to balance the flowers so that the dewy droplets on the red leaves didn't splatter onto the lacy red card in his other hand. The shiny film that the flowers were wrapped in reflected the soft glow of the floating red candles (with red hearts) that had been set up in the hallway for decoration purposes.  
  
When Harry walked in, he passed the doorway, which Hermione was just going through. She didn't even notice him for she was too busy listening to the squabble of two boys over Lavender, whom was giggling sweetly at their words and exclamations:  
  
" I should get to take her to the dance!"  
  
" No, I should take her!"  
  
" No, me!"  
  
Harry prepared to sit himself down by Hermione, who was now getting ready to eat her breakfast, a bit seperated from the other students. In the last minute, his stomach gave a frightened lurch and he tightened his muggy palms on the items in his hands and he headed for the back of the room, where he'd wait until breakfast was over. He decided to catch up with Hermione then.  
  
Ron had just approached Hermione, and he was asking her something. Harry felt a jealous pang inside of him, but when he saw Hermione give a disheartened motion towards the doorway, Harry figured she had rejected whatever Ron had said. Harry wondered if Ron was trying to move in on Hermione, then decided not to doubt his best friend when Ron headed for Parvati.  
  
Hermione suddenly stood up, wiping her hands into a white handkerchief, and then she grabbed her books and raced from the room quickly. She was trying to duck around all the hugging and kissing couples, all unusual in some way. Her eyes suddenly darted towards him, and Harry tried to give her a warm smile, but her eyes moved down before he could. She was looking at the beautiful flowers and card in his hands. Her face twisted in a look of complete morose and worry.  
  
Harry suddenly raced towards the door just as Hermione pushed her way out of the dining hall. Why didn't she wait for him? She should have waited for him! Harry was a bundle of nerves, the flowers now hanging down from his hand and swaying like cheap weeds in the hands of a pre-schooler as he ran down the Hogwarts hallway, trying to find her.  
  
He peeked through the glass-plated windows in the doors of the classrooms. He wanted to find Hermione but he didn't know where to begin looking. Would she have gone up to the bathroom? Harry certainly wouldn't hound her down to there.  
  
He stopped dead when he came across Ron. He was trying to talk Parvati out of her date with Dean and into a date with himself. Harry felt Ron tug at his shirt, and he whirled to face his red-haired friend.  
  
" Harry, tell Parvati that I'm better then Dean will ever be!" Ron's lower lip stuck out in a childish pout. Harry looked into Parvati's eyes. She looked confused and waiting for any distraction so she could run as fast as she could away from Ron and Dean.  
  
Harry, not in the mood to be a peace-giver, hastily told Parvati: " Follow your heart."  
  
She grinned at him lightly, satisfied that Harry didn't try to push her together with his friend.  
  
Harry slowly backed away from them and then peeked into the nearest classroom. Inside, he saw only desks and a very old-looking chart on the wall explaining the growth process of a human baby inside a mother. Harry took one look at the class and knew Hermione hadn't gone in here – she was squeamish about the class and she didn't sign up for it like the other girls did. She said she knew enough about the basics of life to live without knowing the cold hard facts.  
  
Harry felt himself smiling in pride at the thought of Hermione's strong and resilient mind. She was unlike other girls – she had a mind of her own and she wasn't afraid to use it. Hermione was never about having the latest style of robes or the best hair. She didn't spend hours to curl her eyelashes and tweeze her eyebrows and color her lips so they're 'cute'. Hermione spent her time reading and thinking – true values of a woman.  
  
Harry's hand slammed down on the doorknob of the next classroom. It was wet, as if someone had a wet hand when they grasped it. Wet with what? Tears?  
  
Harry hoped not, and he slowly opened it. Just as he did, his eyes caught on a white handkerchief fluttering down to the ground from a nearby desk. It lay on the ground, a snow-white proof of someone being inside the room at the moment, releasing fearful breaths. Harry stepped inside fully, holding the roses closer to him, his nose being tickled by the foil.  
  
There was Hermione, sitting on two chairs pulled together, her knees brought up to her chest, her forehead down on her knees, sitting still as a statue. Her back trembled in a slow breath, and Harry knew that she, at least, wasn't deceased.  
  
Hermione's head pressed down onto her knees, indenting into the fabric of her simple dress. Harry brought his nerves up to say, feebly:  
  
" Hermione?"  
  
She did not reply. He stepped closer, his hand drawing out, wanting to touch her, but afraid. Her hands were at her sides, perhaps waiting to snap up and slap his fingers away. He would never forgive himself if he'd violate her in some way. He knew that girls could interpret things guys did the wrong way, and that was one thing he hoped wouldn't happen now.  
  
Finally, Harry put his hand down onto her shoulder, his fingers skimming her warm hair.  
  
" Are you alright?" He asked her still form.  
  
His fingers slowly ran through her hair, gently. He now realized she was asleep. Harry's fingers kept gently brushing through her hair, tucking the strands that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears. He juggled the roses and card in one hand now, and finally grew tired of the weight they made. She was definitely asleep, and he knew it was no use to wake her for his own self. So, without further ado, he placed the roses at her feet, along with the card. She still didn't stir.  
  
He began to walk towards the doorway, his back now to her, when he sensed movement behind him. He started to turn around, his foot making the floor creak. Hermione's head jerked upwards a bit. Her eyes seemed to remain closed, and he decided that he had just roused her for a brief moment, and that she was probably asleep again.  
  
Harry's hand rested on the doorknob, and he pulled the door open, ready to leave.  
  
" Wait."  
  
The voice echoed inside Harry's head, and he knew he'd remember those words forever, red-hot and branded into his mind, the only words in existence, suddenly. He was tongue-tied and red-faced. How would she react now, seeing the roses. . . happy? Angry?  
  
Hermione was rocking herself back and forth, her fingers tracing the petals of the roses.  
  
" Herm!" He approached her, carefully. He saw her tear-streaked cheeks and he asked: "What happened? Why didn't you say anything when I tried to talk to you?" He picked up the flowers from her feet, and the card with his other hands, then offered them to her, in silence.  
  
She stared at them, not quite sure if she should accept them, most likely. She didn't seem to believe they were for her. "Oh, Harry . . ." She exclaimed, softly, taking the roses from him. Her fingers pressed the petals to her cheek, and her nose hovered right over the dark red bud as she inhaled the sweet scent.  
  
He looked into her eyes, questioning. He wanted to ask why she hadn't said anything, and she seemed to notice the question before he even asked her.  
  
" I. . . was just so tired. I thought I'd take a nap." Hermione said, nervously, her voice as rigid and wavering as a plank on which a pirate's prisoner would walk.  
  
Harry wasn't stupid. He could see the glistening trails of fresh tears on her face, and the small droplets of tears between her eyelashes, little colorful prisms inside of them as the steady light reflected from them.  
  
" You were crying." Harry held out his hand again, this time bringing his fingers to her cheek. He felt how freezing cold her cheek was, as if she had just been outside in the February frost. His own hands were hot for he had been clenching his fists nervously for a while now.  
  
Hermione cried out, and her hands shot around his neck, a sob strangling out of her. Harry didn't know what to do, and then finally put his arms around her quivering body, a pressed leaf in a book ready to crumble. She seemed to fragile suddenly, so broken and doubtful of life in general. Her wet cheek pressed into his neck, her eyelashes tickling the name of his neck. Harry felt his cheeks redden even more.  
  
He slowly moved his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe the tears and fear from her, his hands slowly moving around her small ponytail, cupping it in his hands. Then, he let his fingers skim her cheek, rubbing the tears away." Herm, I have to tell you something."  
  
Her cheek moved against his as they faced each other.  
  
He let his fingers tighten around the roses she held, as if searching for an inspiration from the life of the earth, like the god Antaeus had drawn his own power from the earth. He gently squeezed the soft leaf in his hand as he began: " It's hard to say these kinds of things. . ."  
  
His hand took hers.  
  
" I know I'm not the smartest guy in Hogwarts, and I'm definitely no match to you - no one is - and I'm not the best-looking. . ." This thought came to him as a bit of a humorous one, but Hermione looked ready to protest. He brought her close again. ". . . But I love you." He pushed his face over her shoulder, deciding that he'd rather not see her face after he told this to her, wondering if he should expect to hear the words echoed back into his ears or a sharp reply that would shatter his feelings.  
  
She hugged him tighter, her lips skimming his cheek, forcing him to turn to face her again.  
  
Her whisper sent another flush across Harry's face: " I love you too." Then, he took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and she cradled the flowers in her hands while he opened the card for her. They read it together, laughing, crying. Harry had written the poem inside by himself, and it was nothing compared to the work of professionals, but he still felt a warmth inside his stomach when he read it to her.  
  
She was delighted, pulling him towards the doorway, pushing him outside. A crowd had gathered, trying to see what was going on inside the classroom in which Harry and Hermione had both ducked into on Valentine's Day. A strange aura was beaming from them when they emerged, fresh as snow and light as dew, and everyone seemed to be either very taken aback or not surprised at all.  
  
Not even the stiff, somewhat flushed face of Draco Malfoy seemed too surprised.  
  
And there in the Hallway they had their first kiss, and nearly everyone that saw gave them a round of applause: for the happiest couple in Hogwarts.  
  
They didn't notice that Draco Malfoy had slipped away from the crowd, not joining in the celebration.  
  
Author's Note: Hey! I might write this from Draco's POV now! I got Harry down and over with! Trust me, this isn't going to be slash. There is another reason behind Draco's upsetness though. Is upsetness a word?  
  
Review, and there might be a new chapter! Seriously! 


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